Avengers/SPN.
AN IMPORTANT CONTACT.
Surveillance is jaw-dropping in how boring it is. How do the people who do it for a living stand it? He trusts no one but him and J.A.R.V.' to do it. As much as he loathes work that he cannot 'get into,' he forces it, now. He is expecting a visitor. What he didn't expect was the rather immediate, positive response of this would-be visitor. Evidently, they were nearby by chance. He smiles. Nothing is by chance, anymore, not since Manhattan. Things are uneventful in-so-far, this is New York City, after all, doesn't this guy spend his time out in the hills of god-knows-where Hickbillytown?
The screen flickers to something more interesting. His A.I. has a good sense for these things. A Chevy Impala pulls up out front, aged like wine. Anthony Stark whistles noiselessly. Yes, he likes to design futuristic cars with cup-holders-slash-game-consoles in his spare time, but he appreciates the oldies when he sees them. Man, does he see this one! He wonders if it's for sale—and then he wants to laugh at his own failing memory, because he's asked that before, and he got a black-eye for it.
Down below, a young man steps out of the Impala which Stark is so enamored with stories and stories above-ground, blondish-brown hair windswept, hazel eyes awake and alert. This young man hates the city. He gazes upward without blinking. Construction is still being performed upon the highest levels; he does not keep up with the times, but this is worth it. The media had a field day trying its best to figure out what in hell's name caused that kind of destruction.
He has been called-in. He does not allow himself to be beckoned by just anybody. Something is definitely up, and, well, that shit don't roll. Not when I'm in town. He barges inside, security guards be damned. The appropriate measure of alarm is given. "Whoa, whoa! You! What're you doing?!"
"None of your damn business!"
"Hey—!"
Easy. Mundanes, they deserve credit for some things, and maybe he's a little arrogant, or, his brother would think so. Normal people still don't understand shit about what really goes on out there, in their own world. He has. He's stared them in the face, and there isn't a single authority figure in the universe other than God who can order him around. Sometimes, not even That guy.
"Idiot," huffs Dean Winchester.
The elevator door closes before the fat man with a tazer can reach him.